School's Out
6.22.06
Last day of school and the playground has a muted look, as if the sun light had been turned down a notch, even on this second day of summer. Stray backpacks, a lost sweater, end of the year papers lay scattered as a scraggle of students await pick up. The kids have grown so, lost and gained teeth, scraped elbows, broken limbs, changed hair cuts, filled out. Hems have risen on lengthening legs and slight angles poke through the winnowing baby fat. I marvel at the ones who graduate, how on the cusp they seem, part child-part 'tweener'. My own greet me with yee-ha's, the afternoon "I'm starving!" and packages of goodbye gifts from teachers and stories of their final hours. At 12:30 the whole school joined in a group howl of release and the teachers went off to lunch.
Hanah wants to sing along to her 2nd grade CD, and Noah protests too much, as he's always wont to do at the end of the day on an empty stomach. But this time, it's because he doesn't want her to ruin his bad day and I ask if he's sad. And my stoic little boy gets teary and says yes. I query if it's because school is out and he nods. I ask him who he will miss and he tells me, his teacher, who admitedly has been his best to date. And I get teary as well, thinking of these transitions, how we have to let go at various stages of life of the people who have meant so much to us. She was the quintessential heuristic leader and he flourished under her tutelage, gathered his own discipline around him like a warrior's cape and filled his arsenal with fine weapons of amassed instruction. I shared with him memories of my own last days of school and how sad they made me as well, to miss friends, routine, learning. I then asked if there was anything we could do to give him what this wonderful teacher had and he said no, she was special. And I then feel foolish, for of course, there is nothing we can do to replace that presence in his life and to attempt as much, would diminish her unique gift.
His sadness had abated by the time we got home and I love this about children, how in their moments they can be fully wherever they are, if we allow them, and then how they move on. They rejoice and grieve and then stick their heads back into a book or a game or a race to the end of the block. We play kongi together, a Korean jacks game, good for hand eye coordination and I am so thankful for these moments along the way, that we could be sad together and then, as easily as the clouds pass over the jungle gym, be glad again. And now, let summer begin.
Last day of school and the playground has a muted look, as if the sun light had been turned down a notch, even on this second day of summer. Stray backpacks, a lost sweater, end of the year papers lay scattered as a scraggle of students await pick up. The kids have grown so, lost and gained teeth, scraped elbows, broken limbs, changed hair cuts, filled out. Hems have risen on lengthening legs and slight angles poke through the winnowing baby fat. I marvel at the ones who graduate, how on the cusp they seem, part child-part 'tweener'. My own greet me with yee-ha's, the afternoon "I'm starving!" and packages of goodbye gifts from teachers and stories of their final hours. At 12:30 the whole school joined in a group howl of release and the teachers went off to lunch.
Hanah wants to sing along to her 2nd grade CD, and Noah protests too much, as he's always wont to do at the end of the day on an empty stomach. But this time, it's because he doesn't want her to ruin his bad day and I ask if he's sad. And my stoic little boy gets teary and says yes. I query if it's because school is out and he nods. I ask him who he will miss and he tells me, his teacher, who admitedly has been his best to date. And I get teary as well, thinking of these transitions, how we have to let go at various stages of life of the people who have meant so much to us. She was the quintessential heuristic leader and he flourished under her tutelage, gathered his own discipline around him like a warrior's cape and filled his arsenal with fine weapons of amassed instruction. I shared with him memories of my own last days of school and how sad they made me as well, to miss friends, routine, learning. I then asked if there was anything we could do to give him what this wonderful teacher had and he said no, she was special. And I then feel foolish, for of course, there is nothing we can do to replace that presence in his life and to attempt as much, would diminish her unique gift.
His sadness had abated by the time we got home and I love this about children, how in their moments they can be fully wherever they are, if we allow them, and then how they move on. They rejoice and grieve and then stick their heads back into a book or a game or a race to the end of the block. We play kongi together, a Korean jacks game, good for hand eye coordination and I am so thankful for these moments along the way, that we could be sad together and then, as easily as the clouds pass over the jungle gym, be glad again. And now, let summer begin.
posted by Barbery at 8:02 PM
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